


To Whom It May Concern...

by Punk_in_Docs



Series: Along Came Benedict: The Ben and Libby Saga... [17]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: Children, Dogs, F/M, Fluff, Home, Implied Pregnancy, Marriage, Married Life, Post Humous Advice, Real Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Will and Testement, man and wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5895451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years in the future for Libby & Ben. After babies, marriage and growing old(er) together. Once upon a lonely Sunday. Benedict stumbles upon an innocent document... Which happens to be Libby's post humous words for her family... Just a Drabble that was sitting on my phone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Whom It May Concern...

 

 

  
"We're dangerously close to being _late_ now darling..."

Benedict called moodily up the stairs to his Wife. Proverbially bashing his head on the wall out of boredom.

She happened to be taking her sweet time in getting ready. And they had to be out of the door to make their reservation... He took this time, folded up his sleeves, and checked his watch.... _Oh. Ten minutes ago they should have left._

"We are going out in public. Dear. And unless I put on my face. Small children and the elderly would run screaming at the sight..."

"That's not true...." He fought. Calling back up.

She chuckled wryly.

" _Ohoohhh_. You want to find out Batch?"

She chuckled down sarcastically.

Ben rolled his eyes. Even being in her early forties. His wife's beauty could still stop traffic. Her curves were all still there to drive him mad, her gloriously full body he only loved all the more after her giving birth to both his children. He never stopped being a randy teenager, bursting with hungry sexual appetite for his wife. He barely noticed the wrinkles by her eyes that she joked made her look like a dried out old sea monster. He adored them. She had laugh lines, crows feet. And her red hair had barely any silvery streaks through it. His wife was magnificent. A smile he'd always be smitten for. Glorious stretched Tiger stripes on her tummy where she had once had his children growing inside her.

Alex and Bobbi. Their two worlds. Their son, Alex was away at University in Cornwall. And Bobbi, their daughter, was on a trip to New York with some girly friends. They were staying in their townhouse across there. Having a whale of a time judging by her incessant texts. Though he loved Bobbi and Alex more than he could ever say, it was easy to see where the genes divided. Alex was the spitting image of Ben in appearance, and Bobbi was a mini-Libby all over. Wild red hair and all. Though Libby oft cursed her two children that they got their fathers lean, long legged, lankiness. And she remained the Frodo of the family.

Age may have been wearing him away. With his clicky hips, aching knees, and he never thought he'd be the old codger permanently hunting for his reading glasses. But, alas, he was. And the best bit? His wife hardly looked a day over 30. Even though she often groused otherwise. He adored her.

He rolled his eyes. Moodily sighing. And lumping his body down into a deep armchair in her downstairs study.

His bored mind, quickly grew agitated. After staring at the ceiling for a while. He could hear her, faffing about, sat at her dresser upstairs. He could hear bottles clinking, and the sound of her humming a clash song to herself under her breath. He could picture her now. She'd be rubbing perfume on her wrists. Or sweeping mascara onto her lashes.

He smiled to himself. Some things about her truly _never_ changed.

He groaned. Standing. His mind and patience growing more and more. He walked across to his wife's desk. Smiling as he trailed through some of her watercolour drawings. She had another book out soon. Each one more skilled and adventurous than the last. He was admiring a pirate drawing. When he reached out to trace his fingers across the paper, his sleeve caught the mousepad of her opened laptop. And the screen jolted into life.

His eyes lazily swept over the screen. And almost right away. His attention was captivated by the first words he read.

_To whom it may concern..._

His brow furrowed. He found himself leaning down. Wrangling the office chair out under the desk. Sitting down. His eyes reading more and more... Hungrily drinking more black and white print in.

 

_This has been drafted. By me. Elizabeth "Libby" Turner. And I henceforth stipulate it is to be read by my very own husband and children, in case of an event such as my ultimately untimely, tragically unfortunate, and deeply inconvenient death..._

 

He gasped. He actually gasped, softly, at that. He carried on. Intrigued.

 

  
_Hello darling Alex, and Bobbi Dear. It's your mum here..._

_And if you are reading this. I'm dead._

_So Sorry about that. (This has either occurred of extreme old age or the overwhelming life's long desire I've had to finally join Joe Strummer in heaven. So don't cry for me. Cause where I am now. I am in punk paradise) don't be sad for me. I'm up here with Bowie. Lemmy. Nina. Joe. And Amy and Sid. All the greats. We're having a good old gig in the sky up here._

_  
I hope the funeral was as pleasant as a funeral can be. And that Dad acquiesced my wishes and played Rock the casbah and/or Guns of Brixton. Or failing that. Anarchy in the UK will suffice. And I hope as I stated in my funeral plan. That as my coffin went for cremation. That you all sung 'always look on the bright side of life' by the saintly and wonderful Sir Eric Idle, on the kazoos provided. Wearing the fake punk Mohicans and stud collars. This has been strictly ordered on the funeral plan that's been stuck on the fridge since I had that extremely self pitying cold back when you were both still at school._

 

Ben chuckled at her wit. Typical Libs...

 

_Look. Hand on my heart. Here's a couple of things I have learned on my way to the grave. I warn you know, my lovelies, it's not an exhaustive list because one, as I write this, there is that ruddy dog of ours chewing my slipper under the desk, and two, your dad is calling me from the den because he can't find his reading glasses for the thirtieth time today. (I possess a skill for finding things in the house according to you three in a mystical way only mothers can manage) So a short list is what I shall compile for you now._

_Also, I've left you lucky buggers loads of inheritance money. So Alex, go hog wild with it - get yourself down to that camera place on bruton street and treat yourself to that vintage pinhole camera you've always wanted. (See. My death has it's priveleges, does it not?) And Bobbi. You lovely thing. Take your money love, and finally take that trip to Paris with those girlies of yours. You've been gagging for that for as long as ever I've known you. Now, Go see the Louvre in person and raise a silent toast to me, your mother, at Mona Lisa's smile (Or failing that. Blow it on Loads of those vintage dresses you manage to find and I never can. You look beautiful in them my darling. You always look beautiful)_

_You know kids - aside from all the space your father takes in my heart - that you two are my everything. You were the reason I got up in the morning. The reason I worked hard, drawing, writing, and painting my fingers to the very bone. The reason I loved the way I did. Even the reason I breathe. You are my smile and my laughter and my tears of joy, and as long as there was breath in my lungs. Know that No matter what you did. And who you were. Or who you loved. I loved you bigger and brighter with each passing day. I still do. My cremated heart still beats on for you both through the ashes. (Don't put me urn on the mantel piece. One. Your father never dusts. And two. I want to be sprinkled somewhere near a famous punk rocker of the 70's to eternally be a fan girl)_

 

He frowned. Though he still smiled. His pride a little pricked at that dig at his housekeeping skills.

 

_Because of this love I am burdened with for you lovely two. One of my pieces of advice to you both will be, do not ever, EVER (or I will pull a poltergeist, come back to earth, and smack you one by one across the head) do not EVER fall into that toxic trap of thinking to base your happiness, or your beautiful selves on others._

_Remember this. Confidence is not 'they will not like me.' Confidence, my loves, is 'I'll be more than bloody damn fine if they don't.'_

_Don't think you ever need to be any awful things like being 'thinner' 'cooler' or 'more popular' because it's no shock to come to you, that after I learned this at a very early age, I actively didn't try to be any of those things! Matter of fact I went out of my way not to be..._

_I learned that I loved my rolls of fat, my dark under eyes, my big wobbly thighs and my ridiculous mane like red hair. And you know what? Even with all that, I still fell in love with my best friend of 17 years. I married him. And I had two of the worlds best kids with him. And to this day I'm still so very madly in love. And so very bloody happy. I could wake up each morning singing it across London's rooftops. (Much to everyone's distress. You've heard me sing in the shower. Many ears across London would bleed) And the girl who I envied. Who tore me down nastily, called me 'fat' and said horrible things behind my back about the way I used to dress? For her ability when we were young to be the 'it girl' to be thin and popular? Now she has five kids, hates the man she married and is now divorcing him, has an alcohol problem, works in Tescos, and she looks like an accurate clone of Jabba the hut. (This was second hand information from Auntie Tessa by the way...)_

_So you see? Looks do fade and that gaggle of friends that those 'it people' are flocked by, will one day, not be around those preppy airheads to remind them how "fantastic" they are every second of the live long day. So. Embrace your imperfections. Stroke them. Cuddle them. Pat them soothingly. Be proud of them. Wear them like medals. Wear them like I wore my punk badges. Seven hoop earrings. Leather Jackets. DM's. And spiky Sid vicious inspired gelled red hair I had when I was at Bobbi's age now. I implore you. Heed this advice to the letter (I was serious about doing the poltergeist thing if you do not, you know. I will come and haunt you BIG time)_

 

 _"Only you_ could threaten to _nag_ someone from beyond the grave..." He whispered in humour to himself.

 

_My Next piece of advice, is that life can tend to be a mother funking horror at times. I've told you about some of the worser things that I, and your father have tackled, both respectively on our own, and together. But even when life chucks Cancer, Heartbreak, Nasty words in the paper, miscarriage and then Infertility at you. Don't let it defeat you. Don't let it drag you under, and crush your spirits. Nine times out of ten, the worst most horrific problems you can encounter don't seem quite so evil after a good cry, a cup of tea and a biscuit. Note to selves: get a bloody large biscuit tin. You'd be amazed how repeatedly you get 'mental breakdown' and 'bad day' confused. So don't let the evils of the world, and some of the even worse people contained within it to rot and blacken your sunny insides. If it's bringing in more hurt than good, my loves, then for heavens sake get rid of it. You're both too wonderful to be capsized by the black deeds of others._

_Next, my advice would be one relating to your friends. Your friends will be your second family, and at times, your best family. They are the family we choose. Carefully weeded from those far off hazy days at school, daring each other to talk to your crushes and interact with the opposite sex, they will be the ones who you drunkenly stumble about with attempting to act like responsible adults through University, eating macaroni and cheese at three o'clock in the morning in a messy student kitchen. (That was just my experience of it anyway. Don't be led to false preconceptions that Uni is a place for sex, drugs, and rock and roll. More often than not, it's arguing with your flat mates about who used the last of the milk. Sorry to shatter any illusions here)_

_Then your friends are also the ones right there when you decide to shove too much in a too small backpack and go and not wash for six weeks around Brazil with a few selected buddies, wondering how on earth you'll ever find out to ask where the nearest bar is, or how you'll manage without a washing machine and the bank of Mum and Dad to get you by._

_And lastly they are also there to weep with laughter with you over a glass of good wine in your thirties when your gaping at how quickly your years have passed you by, cackling at some awful dating experience you had as a twenty something year old, which is now your favourite worst anecdote._

_I cannot articulate enough how well you will need good friends in your lives. (They're like a comfy pair of boots. always reliable and sturdy) I know you have some of those pals now. And you are bound to meet more. The kind of friend you question how on earth you ever lived without them. You know my friends are the dearest people in the world to me. Your Uncle Tom. Uncle Martin (whom I hope has stopped swearing by now in his old age) Uncle JJ. Uncle James. Auntie Tessa, Auntie Charley, and Auntie Hattie, Auntie Jules. Auntie Amanda. All those mad wonderful and colourful people who populated mine and your dad's lives. They were our pillars and our backbones. They've all laughed, cried and bitched and loved with us. And p.s. They'll always be there for you guys too, By extension. (Uncle JJ is the bitchiest gossip queen. Auntie Amanda gives the best hugs, and Auntie Tessa makes the best carrot cake in all of London just on an FYI basis)_

_So bare that in mind when the time should come if you ever, either of you, need a kidney, some money, or a sofa to crash on. (Of course I'm kidding. About the money bit. I'm sure they would, however, all of them, happily offer you their bodily organs should you need. Or if not. If he's still knocking around haunting the earth at this point, Then ask your father)_

_When push comes to shove, dearies, the fabulous list of people as stated above will always make room for you in their lives wherever they may be. Because that's what good friends are. They delight, and support. And are the kind of people who make you feel a million dollars, even if you have no makeup on, and are slumming it in scruffy jeans and your saggiest t-shirt. Those are the kinds of friends I hope you bank and clutch close to you for good... Because trust me when I say they honestly will help you blossom. And get through the day. Life is tough. Lovies. But with great friends at your side, and laughter in your heart. You can be tougher._

_Now. You two know without a doubt, that I can, sometimes, be a romantic. (You've seen me cry at the painted veil enough times to know this is a certainty) so I couldn't not be soppy enough to include something about love in here._

_Love. Can. Be. Amazing. Love can be horrible. It can make you hate it, and adore it. It can even be blind, as The Bard once wrote, and I have myself, been crossed in love a fair few times, now and then. But mostly, love is amazing. Never underestimate it's sheer power. Like I did. (For 17 bloody years) let it take you. Don't fight it. There's nothing sadder than fighting it. Don't push it away either. Again. I have done this. It took me a fair few men to get through to realise your dad was the one for me..._

 

He felt his eyes grow a little moist at that. Love bursting up. Swelling in his chest radiating outwards from his fuzzy feeling heart.

 

_(Alex: you dare say Tart to that. I don't care how dead I am. I'll still come back there and I'll kick your ass back to the Stone Age. And Bobbi. If you dare laugh at this. I'll ruddy well kick yours there too, honey!)_

_Back to it. Me and your father... I don't know. I can't explain it..... I never will now. But perhaps we always loved each other, from the moment our eyes met and we exchanged names. All those decades ago. In a grotty nightclub in manchester. (Not exactly the window scene of Romeo and Juliet. I grant you) Or. Maybe we fell in love slowly. After all the years of learning about who the other person was. Growing into love. More and more each day._

_I don't know poppets. I can't answer you in that. I'll never know. - I'm dead after all. Just in case you all needed reminding of that - I can only hope that your dad will have ready a long, arduous and boring lecture as his answer to this (you've seen him in interviews. He could talk the hind legs off a donkey) So. My loves. You've heard the entire war and peace length novel and every story about mine and your fathers involvement in each other's lives. It's a hum-dinger. I tell you. But most importantly... Remember this...._

_Our love story contains some hurt, and some strain and lots and lots of patience. It has been imperfect and it's not always been nice._

_But It's **ours**. _

_So no matter how badly you may/may not get treated by love. Don't bash it. After all. Without love. You guys certainly wouldn't be alive now to read this. (wink wink. Nudge nudge.)_

 

Ben shook his head. Wiping away a joyful tear. Brushing it away in his hand.

 

_And how I can just now imagine your dad throwing back his head and laughing in that throaty way of his, at the faces you are now pulling because of that cringey thought. I ought get an award for that. Mother of the year award. Able to embarrass her two babies from beyond the grave. Come on. That's got to be a skill worthy of recognition..._

_(Ben. Dear. I hope this rings true to you. And if you say and insist on love at first sight at that part, and smile that stupid handsome fabulous smile at my words, then I'm so bloody snogging you when you join me in this afterlife. I bloody love you Batch.)_

_I believe I touched upon this point earlier. Somewhat in my mad ramble about loving who you are, you should also love what you are too. The wonderful meat clockwork that makes you up and makes you whole, and makes you tick. Love it every once in a while. Pat your legs and thank them for being able to run. Love your wobbly bits and your cellulite for keeping you warm and healthy. If you can pinch an inch, well, it means there is that much more of you to love in my opinion..._

_(I say this aimed at you. Bobbi dear. As Alex you are already so handsome, my little man all grown now. But Bobbi. You are now reaching the dangerous vain age of 16 when you want to start liking boys and hating your looks, and your embarrassing dad. Where did my little girl go!?! But nonetheless. Please don't be ashamed of your looks. Though you are unfortunate to get my mane like auburn hair and my busty curviness. You also have all legs like a barstool. Which is unfair - on your mother- and trust me when I say it will render those boys stone dead. I tell you now. Killer legs honey. I hate your father for that long cricket legged gene. When I remain the bilbo bloody baggins of the family. Damn You lucky tall leggy bastards)_

_Anyways. Please. Love the bodies that god/me/your father/ puberty gave you. Treat it well. (For fucks sake don't ever start smoking or doing drugs or you will end up joining me a lot sooner than you think. And I will ignore and snub you in heaven if you do. I don't care if I am the woman who birthed you. No narcotics folks!) love your body for its ability to house all the lovely things that make you guys up. At the end of the day. Our skin and all inside it is ours to do with what we like. Decorate it and treat it like a luxury. Not a burden. Love your warm tummies and your freckles. And love it like I loved mine. Rubbing my belly each night as I went to sleep, loving how I had each one of you in turn growing and living inside me. And thanks by the way for being the angelic babies who did not cry at all at night. You must have got my laziness. Me and your dad fancied._  
  
So. I am sorry to announce. That, that. Was it. All my brilliant advice expended up to you guys. But. Don't just rely on the words of a dead woman slash old age punk with a chip on her shoulder about her wobbly bits and her stubborn hair to curb your lives. Heed my warnings. But decide upon the world for yourselves. It truly is your oyster. And I wish it always will be. It is not all dark corners and frightening horrible endurances. If life has taught me anything at all. It is to love for the little things that make you smile. All I can do. Darlings. Is to arm you with ammunition to help you pollute the dark shadows, and chase away any horrors that lurk there waiting to drag you down. I'd like to think that me and your father gave you sharp eyes to danger and bellies and mouths full of laughter to tackle your lives with (Come Talk to my urn and have a chat and tell me if you do not feel this is the case) and just know that you guys are my absolute favourite kids that I've ever known.

_Alex. Bobbi. Mr. C. You guys are my souls and my life. My world and my hearts. I'm Like a worm. I have three. One for each of you. So leave me hanging up here for far too long. Okay? I don't want any familiar faces like yours to greet me in the next few short years._

_Ben. My Love. My heart. I shall try my best to live without you up here. Don't marry some other bird. For gods sake. Or I'll make random things in the house explode in my angered ghostly wifey revenge. And remember. We are still those happy kids dancing our way through life together. So madly in love it would make Lord Byron retch._

 

" _Oh_. As if I'd ever _dare_... Darling..." He mutters to himself at the remarrying remark.

 

_Benedict. You are my entire existence. Apart from our beautiful children. I shall miss you most. Don't weep too hard for me. Darling. Crank up 'I Put A Spell on You' by my dear buddy Nina. And remember how we finally allowed ourselves to fall madly in love on that dance floor at Sophie's Wedding. All those moons ago. How we kissed/loved/laughed/cried/journeyed/  
fought and just were our imperfect selves, together. And before I start to cry as I write this. Know that you were always the one for me. And you still are. And, my darling, my heart, you always shall be._

 

Another tear. He smiled. Wiping it away.

 

_(Though it would be nice to expect you to perish from a broken heart at my death great Gatsby style and join me shortly... That'd be great. I can nag and kick your bony Harrovian five star ass around heaven. Among other things. My love. Insert sexy wink here)_

_Now. Enclosed underneath is a list of the things I shall be requiring all of you to do in your lives..._

_-Be Nice... (Though all of you already are. Bobby Roo and Al you are the nicest kids. And Ben. You, the nicest husband and my best friend)_

_-Think Happy Thoughts... Let your mindset always be on the optimistic side of the fence. It's just a better use of your energy._

_-Bobbi. Alex. Here is a list of songs that I sang you to sleep with when you were young. When you hear them. Smile. And think of me would you please..._

_New York by Paloma Faith_  
Never too much by Luther Vandross  
You Two  & Hushabye Mountain from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.  
London's Calling by The Clash  
I'm good like that By Kylie Minogue  
Who do you think you are by the spice girls  
Finally by Cece Peniston  
Give it to me baby by rick James

_-Do those mad, once in a lifetime experiences that appeal to you... (Again. NOT drugs) smell the big fat roses, do corny things like watch sunsets and sunrises. Go to a beach. Let the world fade away for a while. Listen to the sea and feel the sand between your toes. I can't explain how much that last one has worked for me so many times over the years._

_-Never forget the importance of 'me-time' go read that book you love somewhere quiet. Take a bath and just forget your troubles. When it may feel like your mind is a labyrinth of noise. When your mind clouds with ache. My dears. Go and take to your solitude and take a moment to regain yourselves._

_-Champion Silver Linings. Because they really will help you see the good side of any shitty situation life hurls your way._

_-Love All Things... (Not just cute things like babies, puppies and kittens) but all things. Remember. Everyone has someone who loves them._

_\- And when you do love. Love like they do in 80's power ballads. Standing on a cliff with your hair blowing in the wind. Eyes shut. Ecstatically happy and knowing that you'll never know another love like this._

_-Watch out for dog poo._

_-Smile at people. Even grumpy ones. Be nice to them. (Oh. Wait. I already said that)_

_-Remember that anything is possible. You want to climb a mountain? Become a vicar? Sell Pottery out of a van for a living? Circum navigate the globe in 80 days? Run for President? Go for it. My loves. Ben. You know. It's not to late for you to still be David Bowie. I know how you dreamt of being Starman as a young kid._

_\- and lastly. Darlings. Whatever you do, always, always, always as a wise man, Eric, once told us. Always try to look on the bright side of life._

_Love from, your Mother._

_Oh. And P.S. Never ever let your father live alone. Because trust me, he will ring you every other second of the live long day because he can't find his glasses. Or doesn't know how to spell styrofoam. Or needs to know what his current PIN number is._

_P.P.S. An update. I have found his reading glasses for him. He was wearing them on his face. (See what I mean now? Kids? You let him live on his own. He will injure/kill himself within a week. And will also have no clothes to wear as he does not know how to use the pissing washing machine.)_

_P.P.P.S. Another update: Me and your Father are now arguing about silly things. And who should do the ironing._

_P.P.P.P.S. And Now we're not speaking._

_P.P.P.P.P.S. Still not._

_  
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. He made me a cup of tea. Alls right in the world now. God. How I love that man..._

_P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Your dad's the best man in the world._

 

  
He slumps back in the seat. Speechless. Heartened. And very much in love.

Heels clattering to the doorframe behind him startle him. Disjointing him from his stupor.

"You ready love?"

Comes Libby's voice from the doorway behind him. He turns to see her ready to go. Red hair curled. Lipstick on. Black coat wrapped round her body. But he could only focus on her blue eyes. Those marvellous orbs he had tunnel vision for.

Her face switched from him, to the laptop. Full well knowing what he had read. And Ben could only gasp, shaking his head

"Why?" He asked in an emotional whisper.

Libby tilted her head. Smiling at him.

"Because...." She chuckled lightly. Pausing. Her eyes met his. And she smiled wider.

"...Because I wanted to have the last word. The last witty quip. For If I end up shuffling off this mortal coil before I think is fair..." She began.

"You won't..." Ben interjected. Shaking his head.

"But if I do. My love... Then that is why. If there was ever a completely real possibility of it happening. Then I wanted to be prepared. And I've come close to danger many times. Heck. I nearly died of blood loss giving birth to Alex. The health scare after Bobbi started school. That nasty 'C' illness reared it's ugly head again. Ben. I wanted to leave that devoted document...." She nodded her head towards the laptop.

"So even if I get snatched away in body. You could read it through and have a good old giggle at my expense." She beamed. "Knowing I'd be here, making you laugh. In spirit..."

Ben reached for her and cradled her close.

"I have but one thing to say to you..." He said lowly.

"Ugh. It's not 'I love you'... Is it?" She wrinkled her nose. Beaming slowly across at him. Eyes warm. Smile so pretty, it was disarming.

Ben proceeded to give her a toe curling smooch that made her knees and heart go all fluttery.

"I demand to go first. Because I'm damned if I'm ever living without you..." He growled firmly.

She rolled her eyes.

"So stubborn." She remarked.

He smiled at her. Tucking a coil of hair behind her ear. He always loved taming her wild hair, stroking it's curled softness with his hands.

"May we go now? I'm starved..." Libby whined.

"Pot. Kettle. Mrs C. I spent half an hour waiting for you..." He complained pitchily.

"Oh. You're so hard done by... You poor man. My heart bleeds." Libby joked as she moved to the front door.

"Yes. Yes I am..."

He insisted. Stroppily. Giving her ass a firm slap, she squeaked a little at that, as they walked for the door. Her heels striking the wooden floor ahead of them. They both cooed a fond goodbye to the useless snoring tangle of rusty fur that was their terrier, was snoozing away on his basket in the kitchen.

They got out of the front door. Linking arm in arm after Ben locked it behind them.

"Matter of fact. You're so hard done by. That your wife of seven years, even put on excruciating underwear for you this evening under this dress. Just to try and entice you into scandalous activities when we get back from dinner. Seeing as we have an empty house and the kids are both away..." Libby spoke in one long drawl.

She smiles up at the foxy grin her husband gave her as she was crushed in his chest. Surrounded by him arms that now cupped her waist and her bottom atop her thick wool coat.

"Oh. That sounds positively awful...." He drawled huskily.

"I thought it might..." She beamed back.

"After all these years. Seven years A marriage. Two kids...." His hand stroked low over her body

"And with another one on the way...." He lusted. Stroking over her belly.

"You still possess the allure to make me feel like a horny teenager all over again." He smirked. Fluttering his lips to ghost over hers.

"The magic of suggestion..." Libby purred.

"I attribute it all. Toward the glory. Of having a wife. With a truly. Irresistible....bottom." He grinned.

Libby laughed, loudly and fervently. Swaying closer to him in his arms.

"Even in this skirt?"

She asks. Motioning to the pencil black skirt stretched across her thighs and her ass under her coat.

Ben pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Even in any skirt. Now. Come on. Let's rush madly through dinner. Eat as fast as we can. Be severely rude and under tip, hurry home, and spend the next two days in bed while the kids are away." He smirked.

"Oh. Mr C. You read my mind..."

She grinned. Stroking her hand across the back of his neck, scooping his angular face up in her hands to give him a sweet kiss.

"I'm awfully good at that. Aren't I?" Ben beamed. Hailing them a cab.

 

~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this wonderful witty woman: http://www.goodfuneralguide.co.uk/2014/01/caitlin-moran-offers-posthumous-advice-daughter/


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